


keep you free from sin

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-03
Updated: 2009-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wonder why they haven't started in on the eternal torments yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep you free from sin

One. Two. Three.

In the beginning, you count the days.

Four. Five. Six.

Dad told you once the body gets used to pain. Learns to live with it. Adjusts. Focuses. Keeps on going when the only thing left is keeping on.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

You always figured that was a lesson he learned in Vietnam. He never talked much about his time over there. He never said if he was hurt or scared or angry or lost. He always gave his spare change to bums on the street who claimed to be vets, even when he didn't have much change to spare.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

"How sweet. You're remembering Daddy Dearest."

That voice again. You don't think it's familiar.

  
Thirteen. Unlucky. That's just a superstition.

So is a lucky rabbit's foot. You wonder if Bela is around somewhere. You could invite her over for some brimstone and beer. Shoot the shit about old times. Being enemies is almost like being friends down here.

You wonder why they haven't started in on the eternal torments yet. Here you are, hanging around, bored out of your mind.

Dear Sammy, you think, Hell ain't all it's cracked up to be.

  
Fourteen.

There is no daylight in Hell, but there are days and nights.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Shall we begin?"

You've got eternity to look forward to and you will never forget that voice.

  
In the night, in the darkness, your body pieces itself together again.

Bones snap into place, muscles mend, teeth slot into your jaw with cool, slick clicks. Your eyes, pinned with needles to the wall so you could watch, roll and bob and squelch into their sockets. You regurgitate your tongue and you can scream again. Blood percolates from your lungs and splashes down your chin, warm and flowing.

By the time your voice gives out, your body is once again whole.

  
He holds a knife like an artist holds a brush.

Twenty, thirty, forty. You've lost count of the days.

"Would you like to try? It's very easy, and I suspect you, my darling, have a knack for it."

You try to answer, "Fuck you," but most of your fingers are jammed down your throat.

He understands anyway, and he laughs.

"Now, don't be greedy. You know you're not my only date for the prom."

He licks the blade clean and starts again.

  
There are a million ways to suffer in Hell.

"Don't be so modest, pet. There are far more than that."

It would be easier if they all blended together. It would be easier if you were insensible from the constant pain. It would be easier if you did not remember each and every day.

  
"I am very fond of symmetry."

Lust. Gluttony. Pride.

"It's a matter of personal preference. A signature, if you will."

A thousand faceless bodies made of razors and acid, writhing and twisting, slashing and shredding, rotting you from the inside. A thousand days of starvation as your body devours itself. Crawling over glass for a thousand miles until there is no flesh on your hands and knees, until your bones are worn to nubs.

"Would you like to try?"

  
No.

No.

No.

_Fuck you._

No.

"That's okay, pretty."

His touch burns with poison and you watch the skin melt from your chest.

"I have all the time in the world."

  
He gives you a name, the closest thing to a caress you can remember.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. Whatever shall we do with you?"

And with the crush of his hand around your neck, he takes it away.

  
_No._

  
You haven't forgotten why you're in Hell.

You're here because you deserve to be.

He tells you every day.

  
"Would you like to-"

The knife is slick and hot with your own blood. The first thing you do is jam it into his neck.

His laughter rings through the pit in a rattle of empty chains.

  
"This is your lesson. You only get one."

The walls of Hell are trembling. Nobody says it but everybody knows something is trying to break in. Something that should not be here.

"You will do as much damage as you can-"

He flicks a glance upward. The gates are strong but they are not impenetrable.

"-before they get here."

  
The knife fits your hand. It was made for you, or you for it.

You go to work.


End file.
